


Mother of Krakens

by kitkatkaylie



Series: The Winter’s Queen Shorts [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alannys Greyjoy deserves better, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Parenthood, Short & Sweet, Theon Greyjoy is a mamas boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:55:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24978766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitkatkaylie/pseuds/kitkatkaylie
Summary: Alannys has had good days and bad days since her sons were taken from her, the day that her youngest returns is the best day of them all.Can be read as a stand alone.
Relationships: Alannys Greyjoy & Theon Greyjoy
Series: The Winter’s Queen Shorts [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1587118
Comments: 4
Kudos: 37





	Mother of Krakens

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nocheiraia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nocheiraia/gifts).



Alannys lived in a world with no concept of time. Some days, the best days, her children were all small, Rodrick and Maron causing trouble in the training yards, her darling Asha watching over them with jealous eyes, and sweet baby Theon clinging to his sister’s leg and trying to convince her to join his games.

Those were the best days for they were the days when her family was whole. Days when her husband had not tried to claim more power and instead lost everything.

Other days, harder days, it was just her and Asha. Days where her eldest two were lost, fighting in their father’s war. Days where the only news she had of her baby boy was when her brother would read the short letters from Lord and Lady Stark, updating her on his health.

Those days she wept, more often than not.

The worst days were the days when she remembered. Days when she was alone, no Asha to console for the loss of her brothers, only empty halls and a fear of her children never returning from the ill-fated missions their father had sent them on. A fear of Asha losing the Kingsmoot and being forced to flee from the Islands and the kin who would try and kill her.

Those were the days that she raged and cursed and stared despondently at the horizon, hoping to spot Asha’s sails or a raven containing news of her baby boy.

Rodrick had told her, on one of those days, of Theon’s return to the Isles, but it was Asha who had told her of the welcome that Balon (that foul son stealing wretch) had gifted him. Asha who had told her that Theon (her baby, her soft sweet baby boy) had been sent to raid the North.

And when news came that Theon had been captured again, that he had been taken prisoner by men who had memories of their vile deeds sewn upon their banners well, then she had fallen back into her memories of lighter days.

She had not surfaced for quite some time.

She had not surfaced until someone new appeared in her chamber, a man with hair as white as the salt upon the cliff tops, a man with a face that was far too thin, a man with eyes that were hauntingly familiar.

“Hello mama.”

Alannys blinked back to reality, back to the cold light of the present, away from the sun-soaked memories of the past.

She squinted at the figure, trying to work out who they were, when suddenly it hit her.

“Theon? My baby? You’ve come home?”

His face split into a wide smile, revealing spaces where teeth should have been, and his eyes started to glisten as though he was about to cry. That solidified it for her, her baby had always a tender soul, more likely to cry than to scream.

She opened her arms, held them out the way she had done when he was small and they had been separated for a few hours. He looked a them, then her face, and then, in a rush of movement threw himself into her embrace.

It was very different from the last time they had done this, his limbs were longer, he no longer was able to curl up on her lap, encased in her arms like a pearl in an oyster, but it was sweet all the same. His head tucked up under her chin and she pressed her lips against his white hair, wondering what had happened to him and dreading the answers all the same.

She doubted that anyone would tell her anyway.

Her baby shuddered slightly in her arms and slowly the shoulder of her dress began to soak through as he wept. She curled an arm tighter around him, held him as he cried for the years of separation, the years of fear and pain that he hadn’t been able to show.

A clarity came to her mind as she soothed her baby boy, a sort of clarity that she had not felt since the day he was taken from her. Her lip curled back in a snarl, she was no great warrior, she bore no arms and commanded no men, but not even the Drowned God himself would keep her from protecting her baby.

No one would be allowed to hurt him again, not while she lived.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Find me on tumblr @istaricelebelasse


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